Where the coarse seams join

If I stayed overnight, allowing myself to see perfection but phrasing it differently,
how cruel would it be? Or if you waited too long, so neither of us knew which part
still deserved to be considered good enough to play, who should call the wager?
And what were we willing to forgive to enjoy that pity game of ours a little longer?
Perhaps we should always have known better, that nothing would ever tell us for free
where the coarse seams joined.

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